November 29, 2004

Keepin' It Real Belichik should

Keepin' It Real

Belichik should just bust out with this at a press conference:

With so much drama in the AFC
It's kinda hard bein tha one and only coach Bill B
But I, somehow, some way
Keep comin up with funky ass shit like every single day
May I, kick a little something for the media
And, make a few checks as I breeze through
Two ahead in the division and the party's still jumpin
Cause Herman Edwards ain't home
I got coaches in the video room breakin it down
And, they ain't leavin til six in the mornin (six in the mornin)
So what you wanna do, sheeeit
I got a pocket full of playcalls and my QB do too
So turn off the lights and close the doors
But (but what) we don't love them Colts, yeah!
So we gonna smoke a ounce to this
Pats up, league down, while you motherfuckers bounce to this

Rollin through the East, thinkin X and O, goin' sixteen and two
Laid back (with my mind on my trophies and my trophies on my mind)

Thank you, thank you, my Caucasian ass came up with that all by myself.

Meanwhile, Boston Globe Magazine this week has a little piece (not reprinted online, apparently, thanks guys) in which two talking heads have that time-honored pointless argument about whether Boston is a baseball or a football town. The one favoring baseball (I'd come up with his name, but, well, not reprinted online) actually had the audacity to say that while Adam Vinatieri is the number two name on the Patriots, he wouldn't be recognized walking through North Station. The implied corollary, here, I guess, is that any of the Red Sox would.

Now, first of all, show me the Boston fan that's going to recognize Cesar Crespo over Adam Vinatieri, and I'll show you someone I want to punch.

But a little nagging doubt crept into my mind yesterday, as I only watched the Patriots toy with and then proceed to crush the Ravens without mercy out of the corner of my eye as Steve and I gave the apartment a critically needed cleaning that absolutely could not have been put off another day. Seriously. We were living in squalor; another day and Sally Struthers would've been weeping in our living room begging people to send donations. We even made a Wal-Mart run in the middle of the game, content to listen to Gil Santos when we weren't bickering. Would I ever have treated the Red Sox with such disrespect? Well, depends. But the Red Sox play more than once a week.

And yet as I sat in the downpour waiting for the windshield to de-fog outside Wal-Mart (now there's an inspiring image), listening to the booming baritone of Gil Santos--who, by the way, should be forced to provide voice-over for everything, from dubbed movies to voicemail systems--I thought of what it must be like for all those fortunate ticket-holders at Gillette Stadium to be squinting happily toward their indomitable team through the driving rain, and actually daydreamed enviously of the feeling each of them would have after making the long trek back from the stadium to their cars, listening to the postgame radio shows while they waited through traffic and let the car's heat blast in their faces until they were a kind of euphorically exhausted you can only get after attending a "weather game" in Foxboro. Would a team I didn't love make me nostalgic for sitting outside in a downpour?

But the question isn't if I love them--it's if I love them as much. And it's hard to say. Since, with our work finished and nothing good on TV, we popped in the World Series DVD for another spin before heading to bed last night. And though I missed much of the first quarter of the Patriots game to tape the Sportsmen of the Year announcement on FOX, I was surprised to see that Tom Brady was nominated.

It's hard to say. For what it's worth, though, I feel guilt over neglecting the Patriots to the point where an obscenely awful parody of "Gin and Juice" and a rant about not much has to suffice for their game review, and I'm not sure if it does, but I hope it counts for something.

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